Personal Essay

The following is a piece that I wrote for the Inner Monologues show. It's a monthly show in which a group of writers create a personal essay based on one theme. This month's theme:
Apologies.


Forgive Me My Wrong Doings and Deliver Me My Karma

As I lay on a local Long Island beach, my dear friend Debbie lays beside me in the sand and comments on how our mutual friend, Sam, has run into an old friend on the beach, “I can’t believe she ran into someone she knows here,” she remarks.

I bask in the sun as I retort, “It’s not at all really. I always run into someone I know when I come back to Long Island. It’s long, but narrow, you run into people you know, it’s inevitable.”

Debbie is leaning on her palms, squinting to observe the routine reunion she knows no part of in front of her. “You Long Islanders are weird,” she concludes, and lays back.

The sun grew hotter and my body sunk into the sand in a beautifully warm, comforting relaxation. As I started to drift with the ocean’s sounds I heard a familiar voice: the nasal voice of Veronica Chambers.

I have to say hello, I thought. She’s right in front of me. There’s no where to hide on a beach. Damn this skinny island.

“Hey Veronica!” I call out enthusiastically, getting not just her attention, but people within a thirty foot radius. There really is something about Long Islanders that make it impossible for us to not make a big show of uniting with each other.

“Oh my god. Sue! I wouldn’t imagine seeing you here in a million years. You’re all the way in the city. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here with my college pals,” I gesture and introduce the group.

She then launches into it. It being the one thing you fear when you run into a very old friend. The embarrassing old stories you have long forgotten, for good reason.

“I’ve known Sue for twenty years. Hey Sue, you know what story I’ll never forget? The day you, and Gina, taught me how to rollerblade.”

I shrink back. She pushes on, like the unstoppable Veronica I’ve always known. My friends listen on eagerly.

“You and Gina got so annoyed with me, because I was scared. I kept saying I didn’t want to do it and was going to get hurt. You yelled at me to shut up and finally had to bet me that I couldn’t stop talking for an hour. Then, after the hour was up I still didn’t talk and you guys begged me to talk, but I still wouldn’t and I went home crying.”

She comes up for air, and I jump in, “Now, I remember that.”

I stammer on trying to save myself, but I’m too late.

“That’s really mean!” Debbie exclaims.

“Well, to be fair, Veronica really did never shut up,” I say in my own pathetic defense.

“I was a pretty bad motor mouth,” Veronica she says as she looks over the rims of her glasses at Debbie, but the damage was done.

The sun moved and we all shifted into comfy sun spots. I lay in the sand suddenly feeling too hot to take it anymore. “Wanna go to the water Deb?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” she says looking down at her burnt breasts.

We saunter down to the water, sucking guts and trying not to step on small children. We get to the water’s edge and stand there letting the frigid ocean lap against our ankles. Starring out at our friends jumping into and over crashing waves Debbie says, “So, you were a bully as a kid.”

My brow immediately furrows, “I-I don’t think so…Not really.” This idea of me being a bully was more jarring than the cold rushing tide that was creeping up to my legs. I think back to my early years. “Well…my imaginary friend’s name was Wussy.”

“There you have it,” Debbie said, closing her case. Smug with her own conclusion.

I never thought of myself as a bully before. It could be because from 6th grade on, I was a giant dork. Dorks aren’t bullies, we’re the bullied. But, to be fair – I wasn’t fully dorkified until the middle of 6th grade.

In sixth grade I was a chubby kid with purple glasses that were bigger than my brace face. My clothing, like always, was a little out of style. I wore leggings one year past their prime with sweaters that didn’t always cover the junk that I was carrying in my trunk. I developed early though, so I had breasts that were comparable to my belly. Basically, I was your typical awkward 11 year old girl.

The group I was running with in the beginning of the year were people commonly thought to be cool. They smoked, they talked back to teachers. I was a smart ass and smoked too, so I felt as if I belonged. I walked with them in the hallways and followed them into town for shop lifting excursions, never realizing I was always ten steps behind and the only one laughing at my dorky jokes

“What a maroon!” I’d say in response to a story about a peer’s folly.

My hilarious faulty moron insult fell upon clogged ears. That must be it. Either that, or plain ol’ deaf, or they’re crazy. I mean that is classic Bugs Bunny bonafide hilarity.

I delivered it again. This time the response was deafeningly silent. I continued to walk behind.
It wasn’t until I found a note that was meant for the trash that I realized how unwanted I really was within in my group of pals. The note had been passed through the hands of all my pals during the teacher’s reading of a Wrinkle in Time. As she read with her nose buried, her students ran amok. I would watch them from time to time, but often didn’t take part, because I really loved reading and learning. I know what you’re thinking, who wouldn’t find that kind of girl cool?

Well, apparently all of my friends. For the note that I saw passing out of the blurry corners of my four eyes landed near my feet instead of in the garbage as expected. A gasp was let out by a few of my so-called friends. I picked up the crinkled piece of paper, unfolded it and saw a picture with two round circles like a snow man and arms sticking out of it. There were glasses and straggly hairs on her head. A word bubble protruded from her mouth which encased the words

“Hi! I’m Sue”. Under this each of my pals had taken the time to agree with the drawing.

“That’s totally fatty Funke”

“She’s such a loser.”

The floor beneath my sixth grade high horse fell out. I found myself friendless. To be a cool kid, you had to put down all the other kids. Not even the losers wanted me, but I wanted them, for it was now apparent that I was one of them.

Like an olive branch stretching for forgiveness I looked over at the empty seat. At the table sat a group of girls with pants hiked way too high, over bites in the process of being fixed, hunched over, eating smelly sandwiches. I was at their mercy.

“Can I sit here?” I asked. They rapidly responded in turn:

“Is this a joke?”

“No way, you’ll just make fun of us.”

“They sent you over here didn’t they?” one said as she pointed to my fraudulent friends.

“No. They don’t even like me anymore. I realize now they’re assholes…and I’m pretty sure Colleen either doesn’t shower, it either that or she rubs shortening in her hair.”

They all giggle.

“What a maroon!” I said topping it off.

One of the girls nearly blows her milk out her nose.

Clearly I was sitting with my type of pals.

“You were pretty mean to us though.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, the first time of many. “Not only will I not make fun of you again, but because you guys were so nice to let me sit here, I’ll stick up for you next time they make fun of you.”

They took the deal. And from then on I made it my point to befriend any fellow dork I meet, and only bully the bullies away from my fellow dorks.

I’ve hopefully paid off my old bullying times by now with my Robin Hood kindness. Maybe that’s why it shocked me when Veronica brought up the story from my bully days, because in my mind, that bad karma has been erased.

From time to time though, I still may bully the wrong people, and for that I am truly sorry. To all the people I’ve bullied in vain, I swear to you, here and now, and forever - I’ll be nice to a really nice to, and stick up for, a dorky person in your name. I promise.

Debbie Says The Darndest Things

I called my pal Debbie last night to catch up and make plans to see each other because I miss my former college roommate's face. The following is a transcript of one portion of our call:

Me: So, yeah we went on a date and had a great time.

Debbie: I'm really happy for you!

Me: Don't you wanna ask me anything else about him?

Debbie: How does he feel about domestic abuse?

Me:....(laughter) I was thinking more about what does he do for a living, but I am pretty sure he's anti domestic abuse.

Debbie: Well, it's important to find out about that kinda thing early.

I think Debbie maybe watching too much Lifetime.

Proof of Age

I don't have an ID at the moment (see ...The Morning After)
So when I showed up at a scheduled reunion of friends at the Beer Garden in Astoria I was faced with proving to a cop that I am in fact, 24 years old.
First, I tried the ol' walk right in. But he was a cop and he wasn't haven't it.
"I.D."
Deep breath.
"ok, so here's the deal - I lost my wallet. In my wallet I had the drivers license proving I'm 24 years old, born December 5, 1981."

He laughed at my attempt, but said that it was a risk for not just him, but also the owners, and he asked me if I came here often.
I hadn't been there in a year.
I needed to pull out the big guns.
I have a mini wallet with lesser used cards that I pulled out.

"Ok, so here's all the proof I have of who I am -
An NPR membership card, what person under 21 is a card carrying member of public radio?
A savings account card, with my name on it. Officer, when you were under 21 did you have a savings account, I doubt it.
And the big kicker, I have a business card, what kind of kid has a busniess card?
I have a 401K for Christ sake, and I'm starting to get wrinkles - you can't get wrinkles from being under 21, you can get wrinkles from being a hard working, stressed out, forgetful 24 year old who lost her wallet and just wants a beer with her friends. So, what do you say?"
He sighed.
That's when I pulled out the even bigger gun.
"You can call my mom, she will tell you. I'll call from my cell, you can see it says Mom and she's a God loving woman, Officer, she will tell you the truth. That I am 24 and I lost my wallet...and that I need a drink."

He looked at my friend Debbie, and says "how old are you?"
"I'm 24 too, she's older than me" she says as she hands over her id.
He looks at me funny and I say "December 5, 1981" and he reads Debbie's January, 16, 1982.

He then rolled his eyes and let me in.

Notable Quotes and Stats

It's been a while since a blog.
I've been really busy.
I owe more, but for now, here's a list of great quotes of recent:


"Our marriage works because we've always hated eachother!"
-great quote from the HBO show Lucky Louie - can't life be more like TV?

"Look at you doin' your fancy pants dance."
-at a diner in Astoria

"I'm so glad I got my period, I was so not ready to have Bobby's abortion."
-said that and it stopped a LIRR train.

"Capital punishment should be abolished, we should just give the bad people pink socks."
-my former roommate, Debbie


"Hold on, I need to sit in my dripping shame a little longer"
-sitting with beer in my hair in a space between my chair and the booth that apparently didn't wrap around.

"I'm glad you realize God's plan is for us to marry and procreate."
-response from my step father after a discussion about how, yes, eventually I would like to get married and that I do like/want children- eventually, possibly, maybe...

ok really just to be able to justify eating an entire plate of nachos by myself for the "bun in the oven"

....mmm the smell of buns in the oven.

"Oh my God, we've broken Sue, she's under the desk."
-someone asked me why I didn't just take the time to open the mail (I had two days of work, for the many different roles I play at work, piled up because my Great Aunt died) so yes, I did hide under the desk.
It's really super professional to do. I highly recommend trying it,
it's safe under there.

I'm not really broken, I'm actually quite content.

Party Intermission

I'm a big fan of the group "Modest Mouse". I find they have an excellent ability to be a soundtrack to my post-college summers.

I chose the song Polar Opposites
and of course, Summer to sum up the past couple of days.

My republican friend from Iowa, Ian, came to visit me Thursday and Friday.

We only got into one fight, and I think both of us were a little disappointed about that, because he's a hoot to argue with because we often end up having great conversations.

We also went around drinking
a couple of nights, and then laid around during the days outside at the cafes of queens*

You might be wondering, Sue, you live in New York, where did you meet a republican from Iowa that's only 24 years old?

Hofstra University, and I know TWO of them.

And both of them were together with other of my treasured Hofstra friends at the Mineola house* on Friday night.
There was a beer pong tournament,
music,
and "worst of day/best of day" on the roof top***.

On Saturday, we woke up and went to the best diner I've ever been to in my life, the Hudson St. Diner in Mineola, which is on such a tiny side street, that if you find it, and it's open, consider being able to eat there your prize. It's run by one woman, she took our orders and cooked our food. It was delicious and cheap. After eating we all decided that we were going to move next door just so we'd never have to eat anything else.

After diner food, one must move or else arteries will immediately seize. So we went to the park and played frisbee and barefoot soccer like the good little hippie kids we are.

Today, I went to brunch with former roomate now Astori-buddy Debbie & Special Guest Astoria bound Tom, and then to my friend's poetry reading. Tom went with me, on our way over he was telling me how he didn't really like poetry, he likes things more straight forward.

I really didn't know what to say. I mean sure, the tough part of me thinks poetry is for whiney teenagers who think no one else has ever gotten their heart broken, or pretenious snots.

But then the wussy (honest) Creative Writing/English major in me thinks that it is the greatest thing ever.

The poems presented were all wonderful and it was really interesting to hear the back stories that accompanied them. It gave me a renewed appreciation of writing.

I then went to New York Comedy Club and did not appreciate any of my new writing, i.e. stand up. So,

NOW
I am now home
getting ready for tomorrow's work
feeling content at the summer time I've spent
and realizing that's it's still new
It takes me back to youth
lived again as a child
the vacation youth provides
and now that i am back to maturity
and work is soon to be done
I'm glad to lay back and know
That youth doesn't pass
if you allow some parts
never to go

I guess I'll leave the poetry to the experts - or a less sleepy sue.

The party isn't over, it's just pausing for an intermission

~asleep.


*The Mineola House is a block away from Mineola train station on Long Island.
This is where my best friend, Will lives with some other great Hofstra graduates. It's an apartment that is over a beauty parlor, there are three rooms, one bathroom, and a full kitchen on each floor of this two level apartment (the second floor has a large living room that has tons of space for people to sit and talk/fall asleep in as well). It's a place that was made to party in, and often is.


**I really only go to this place.
Because of the wait-staff and the location near the park.

***This is a game where you go around and tell the absolute worst of your day, and best of your day and get to tell your friends to drink for how good or bad the story was. It's a very unorganized drinking game, but very fun on a roof top with great friends on a summer night.

Happy Fatherless Day!

About a week before I turned 16, my father died.
I've been fatherless for 9 years now, and Father's Day has always been a weird day.

I'm always struggling to find a place to hide away from all the happy families and sweet little girls with their proud Papas.

This year there was something to actually celebrate: The movie "Prairie Home Companion"

My father was a big NPR fan. We would listen to it every weekend*. There were many long Sundays spent driving around Long Island or even upstate NY listening to Classical music, News shows, but best of all was Prairie Home Companion.

Sometimes, I really thought my father not only believed in a place known as Lake Woebegone, but was searching for the standards in his life:
"Welcome to Lake Woebegone,
where all the women are strong,
all the men are good looking,
and the children are above average."


When I was about 8 years old my father took my mother and I to our first Town Hall taping of A Prairie Home Companion. It made me appreciate radio and life a lot more after I walked out. I'm not sure if it was the singing, the story telling, the experience of seeing live sound effects, or just the look on my father's face as he laughed, and then got annoyed at me for fidgeting too much - I've always fidgeted too much.

Seeing Robert Altman's film written by Garrison Keillor tonight, made me feel very similar to our trips to Town Hall. It definitely captured all the magic and tenderness that I felt every time we'd watch Mr. Keillor speak in his smooth soothing voice. I even tapped my toe to the lively music the same way I did when I was a little girl.

And although my father wasn't sitting next to me, I know that he would've loved to have been there, and that he would be proud to know that I was there.

He taught me to appreciate the finer funny things in life.

So, today was a very happy Fatherless day for me, because it was the first one in a long time that I was actually able to celebrate my Father.

*Except when there was a Met game, then we would be listening to the Fan
Let's Go Mets! F-A-N do-do-dooo

OR

if there was traffic we'd listen to 1010Wins traffic on the 10's.
"you give us ten minutes, we'll give you the world" every time I heard I remember telling my father that I felt gypped because after ten minutes I would get a pretty abbreviated version for the world. He liked that joke, he would give me a look like 'you've got moxie kid'.


P.S. I would like to thank my friend Debbie for being my "date" today and putting up with all my tales of Prairie Home Companion viewing.